


Instinct Define Me

by noctiscorvus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic!Stiles, Season 3 but not really?, There's hand holding, dangerous stuff that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiscorvus/pseuds/noctiscorvus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter can slink around the edge of fights all he wants, but he can't really get upset when someone gets hurt if even he wasn't there to protect them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instinct Define Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



> Another attempt at these idiots. Partially inspired by a friend's comment on my last Steter fic and thanks to Mar for motivating me enough to have written something not once but twice this week.
> 
> UPDATE: Ah, finally figured out what I was doing wrong with the layout (Thanks, Mar), so it should read better now.  
> If not, or there's something else a bit iffy, feel free to point it out~

The warehouse was abandoned, nothing but the headlights of the car to illuminate them as they climbed out.  
Lydia sauntered round to the front, perching on the hood of the vehicle as this evening’s date followed suit, trailing a finger along the bonnet with a small smile.  
“Don’t play coy.” She warned, fingers twirling in his long hair, tugging lightly till he stood in front of her.  
The man’s skin was pale, like moonlight on a cold night, the faintly orange beam from the car doing him no further favours.  
Not that he needed, not with the bright eyes that stared back at her.  
  
“Fine.” His voice rumbled, leaning in to nuzzle under her chin, “Does this mean we’re done with playing games?”  
And she laughed, dainty fingers pushing his face away as he went in for a kiss, “I’ve got one more.”  
The smirk he gave her was downright dirty, Lydia’s skin flushing at the promises it offered, “Is it fun?”  
She bit her lip, leaving teeth marks in plump, cherry-scented skin as she leaned forward, her voice barely more than a whisper, “To die for.”

The sound of a power switch being pulled was all the warning they got, Lydia shutting her eyes tight as a harsh, white light filled the space.  
“What’s goi-“ The man squinted against the brightness  as he whirled round to Lydia. Who was nowhere to be seen.  
He backed up against the car as the room filled with growls, a snarl echoing from up high just as a handful of figures leapt down from the catwalks, surrounding him.  
This was the moment that would show whether they’d been on a false trail, whether they were now frightening the ever living shit out of an innocent human or had actually hunted down their intended target.  
  
Peter, feeling less inclined for dramatics tonight, slipped down into the shadows, nose to their prey and eyes on Jackson depositing his girlfriend on the catwalk next to the armed Argent girl, before joining the rest of the Pack in slinking towards the man.  
Well, man was a very loose term, he mused as the quarry clambered onto the vehicle before flinging his hair back and hissing like the drama queen Albastors were described as.  
The older werewolf could taste the relief coming from the pups at having been right, rolling his eyes the same time Derek gave the signal for the next part in the plan.  
The part Peter never quite liked.

A side door opened, Isaac and Scott scurrying back towards it as the local witch stepped into the warehouse, hallowed blade in one hand, piece of white chalk in the other.  
Sensing things were about to go down the drain for it, the Albastor made to take off, its shape changing into something so very not human, just as Stiles reached down and scratched something near his feet with the chalk.  
The next bit always had Peter’s hackles rising, the teen bringing the blade to his palm, breathing out a few words before he sliced open the skin and turned his hand down.  
The scent of Stiles’ blood reached his nose before the first drop even hit the floor, the low growl that forced its way past his lips drowned out by the sound of the offer being accepted and the trap activating.  
  
With a noise that sounded eerily like a distorted voice yelling against the winds, hundreds of ghost-like tendrils rose up from the chalked incantation that took up the entire warehouse floor.  
Dust and magic kicked up around them, adding a bone-chilling effect to the chanting of foreign syllables forming non-existent words, creating patterns that flashed blinding bright within their own heads.  
The Albastor jerked, halfway to being airborne, before the wisps shot out overhead, coiling up into each other, little gasps filling the room till they were boxed in with semi-translucent walls.  
The barrier stretched the length of the warehouse, but wouldn’t let them go much higher than that a human could jump.  
  
Even if their prey was to shape shift into its aerial form, it would still be within easy reach and more importantly, it wouldn’t be escaping.  
Nothing living could get in or out, not unless Stiles dropped the spell.  
  
Apparently sensing this, it snapped its head to where the teen stood, arms spread out and eyes closed as he wove his imagination into the strange chant.  
It eyed the snarling werewolves, both daring it to even try, the creature’s lip curling up at the corners to reveal dagger-like teeth as it fell back to its haunches, winding in on itself in preparation for a leap.  
A dual hiss cut through the air then, two arrows embedding themselves into the creature’s shoulder and foot, tearing a howl from it just as the Alpha, Jackson and Boyd attacked.  
  
The plan was to trap it, pin it down and break the little finger on the Albastor’s left hand which would remove its powers, if the lore was right anyway.  
There was, sadly, very little on how to actually kill it, so if breaking a finger  didn’t work, they were all pretty much screwed as it was technically a spirit. They had still been arguing  about whether or not that meant you could actually kill it during the run over here.  
  
As such, Peter kept his distance, still not in full form and not particularly eager to get near a shifter that bore a striking resemblance to his late brother being only half the reason for him to hang back.  
He mostly wanted to keep an eye on Stiles, sweat now running down his temple as he diligently kept reciting the lines that held the wisps in place.  
The spell was one that put a lot of strain on the caster, especially with an area this large, but there’d been no other choice, no other way to keep the Albastor trapped and give the Pack a playing field advantage.  
  
Stepping aside as Cora flew right at him, he helped his niece back to her feet while surveying the fight.  
Apparently the creature _could_ bleed, which bode well for the throat ripping back-up plan, but the fight wasn’t exactly going in their favour.  
The hunter and her friend had run out of arrows, taken to calling out advice and worrying their lips while the Pack got flung about or pounced, only to meet concrete as the Albastor shifted to some white shapeless thing and soared to the other side of the enclosing, banging into the barrier due to its high speed.  
And each time it did that, Stiles’ fingers twitched, his brow furrowing just that bit more.  
  
“Peter..?” Cora looked at him with a questioning gaze, tugging lightly on the hand he still held.  
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small apologetic smile as he let go, “We’re not doing so well.”  
Flashing the Hale’s smirk at him, she took a step back towards the fight, “He’ll be fine.” And then leapt back into the fray, managing to tackle the prey’s legs and hold on long enough for Derek to bring down his fury upon it.  
Peter felt a little put out at having been caught, even if his worry wasn’t that easy to hide right now, he could have also been worrying about the Pack.  
But even though she didn’t say a name, he knew who Cora meant and chose to scowl at the teen in question.

Stiles was starting to struggle, he could see that, ducking as the vile thing flew over his head.  
He wanted to claw at it, when the telltale whoosh of a force colliding with the barricade rang through the air, followed by a barely audible grunt Peter felt rather than heard.  
Sweat was now dripping off Stiles’ chin, the werewolf pressing his claws into his own palm as he took in the tremble in the boy’s arms, the way his chest heaved at inconsistent intervals.  
Peter couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t risk this thing getting out and finding more victims.  
No, okay, _he_ could. Derek wasn’t having any of it though and what the Alpha said was law.  
So he had no choice but just watch as Stiles pushed himself.  
Imagination could take a person pretty far, but never beyond the limits of their own body and while Stiles had been training, something Peter had helped oversee, there’d be moments when it wasn’t enough.

Sharp cries tore through his thoughts, the older man barely glancing to see it was just Jackson crashing into Isaac, the two of them rolling across the floor.  
It took a second to register that Scott was nowhere near his best friend.  
There was no one guarding Stiles. Stiles who was unaware of his surroundings, a fatal flaw to this particular spell. One they were supposed to have covered by sacrificing themselves as the witch’s guards.  
  
A growl ripped from him as a white glow dashed into his view, heading straight  at Stiles.  
Four voices screamed his name, but it was too late.  
The Albastor rammed right into him, Stiles eyes shooting open as he curled in at the impact before being thrown backwards.  
The barrier shattered, wind rushing at them from all sides as the air was released, specks of white floating down, dissolving before it touched the floor.  
But Peter didn’t see or feel any of it, his wolf howling for blood as his features shifted to that of a feral beast, already lunging for the neck.  
  
Claws tore through thin air as his victim fled, but he had no intention of letting it go, had locked onto its scent, tracked its every movement with wild blue eyes, snarling as he ran and pounced.  
The creature was forced to head down, touching the ground where it flickered between shapes, enough time for Peter to land and turn, backhanding as hard as he could.  
More dust kicked up as his kill skidded across the flat, the wolf not relenting one bit and went in for a follow up.  
  
Blood flew left and right, dark stains that would never disappear now decorating the compound and the beast handed out one blow after another.  
The Albastor had no time to regain its footing or shift, could only suffer the single-minded onslaught offered by the snarling werewolf.  
Somewhere during this assault, Peter had managed to break the finger in question, but the wolf couldn’t be quietened.  
Not till the prey lay dead and twitching in its own blood.  
  
It stumbled to a knee after a nasty crack to its ribs, looking up in time to see both arms raised before werewolf brought both clawed hands down, gouging and tearing with all he could muster in a single swipe.  
The Albastor swayed slightly then toppled into its own gore as the howl of a triumphant hunt echoed throughout the space, ringing further into the night.  
Peter’s head fell forward, chin to chest as he breathed in heavily, the animal retreating back into his mind while he calmed down and returned to his normal appearance.  
He was more than aware of the silence and the stares, took his time to shake the carnage off his hands.  
  
Jackson, nursing his jaw, was the first to speak up, “Couldn’t you have done that sooner?”  
“And have you miss out on, what is obviously, much needed experience?”  Peter ignored the scoffed insult and managed to casually head over to where most had gathered around Stiles’ prone form.  
To say his heart clenched was an understatement, but he just breathed through his nose, clenched his hands and focused on the undeniable sound of the teen’s heartbeat, slow yet steady. All the reassurance he needed, for now.  
  
“I think we need to get him to Deaton.” Derek spoke to all of them but was staring at Peter like he hadn’t know he was there.  
Mentally cursing himself, he tilted his head before smirking, “You let me know how that goes. I need to change before the smell sticks to me.”  
The Alpha frowned a little but nodded, till Cora intervened, “Atleast your clothes are intact, we’d get weird looks taking him in. Someone might call the Sheriff again.”  
That had them all wincing, some for entirely different reasons.  
“The girls are fine, they can tak-“ Peter wouldn’t call it weaseling out of it, but either way, Allison cut him off.  
“The car is kind of totaled, in case you hadn’t noticed.”, which he hadn’t what with being a little preoccupied at the time.  
This was one of those moments that had the werewolf looking to a God he didn’t believe in.  
“Fine. Give.”

The rest stayed to deal with the clean up, leaving Peter to make it to Deaton’s with Stiles cradled to his chest. And if he held the human a bit more gentler than he would have under the gaze of others, well, there was no one around to tell.  
Peter did his best not to jostle the teen too much, worried about how despite looking like he was asleep, Stiles wasn’t waking up no matter how many times his name was called or how Peter formulated his snarky innuendos.  
It was unnerving, how still he was. Even in his sleep, Peter knew the boy flailed and turned, much to the annoyance of every werewolf within the same room.  
Though after enough Pack meetings that had turned into all-nighters that had the teens falling asleep one after the other, it became a comfort hearing Stiles shift about and snuffle while he dreamed.  
  
Keeping to the shadows and out of sight from known camera locations, Peter managed to sneak in through the backdoor of the vet’s. As it was open, he presumed someone had called ahead and he walked right on in to the examination room, carefully laying Stiles down on the table.  
His fingers lingered as he gently put the teen’s head down, brushing along damp skin and caressing away the frown adorning his face.  
At the sound of Deaton’s shoes approaching, he removed his hands to the edge of the table, watching the way the veterinarian eyed the state of his attire upon walking in.  
  
“I take it this week’s Big Bad has been taken care of?”  
Peter ignored the question and gestured with his chin, “He was still chanting when it crashed into him. The spell broke, but he didn’t wake up.”  
Deaton hummed, fingers splayed across the unconscious witch’s temples, “The problem with spirits-“ He moved down, picking up Stiles’ hand and poking at his palm,”-is that their presence alone interferes with the flow of magic. Which is why I told you all he’d need to keep his distance.”  
Peter met the hard stare head on. He wanted to say that that had been the plan, that Stiles’ protection was priority. But anything he could say would hold no conviction and the vet knew that, because Stiles was on his table.  
  
The wolf looked way, eyes tracing a path from one mole to the next, “Will he wake up?”  
“Yes. In his own time. His magic has been caught up in that of the Albastor. He needs to.. untangle himself. After that, it’s familiar territory for him.” Deaton spoke with a tone that said nothing more could be done, patted Stiles’ arm and regarded Peter.  
“The towels are in that cupboard.”

Peter had informed Derek of the diagnosis while cleaning himself up a bit, running the tap at full blast every time his nephew spoke. It was safe to say it had been a short conversation.  
 He’d returned to the examination room to find a cup of coffee sitting on a desk, settling himself nearby as he watched Stiles’ chest rise and fall.

The idea of the Albastor’s taint being in Stiles, being what was keeping him so inert had his teeth grinding, a fang catching on his lip.  
He wondered if it hurt, if it was anything like a poison coursing through veins and had to throw back the burning coffee to stop himself from running to the teen’s side.  
The heat calmed him a little, he managed to reason that pain always caused a reaction, that there’d be signs.  
Peter still slipped his hand over Stiles’, leeching off anything he could find, fingers following the veins with mild interest.

Eventually there was nothing left to take, his own skin tingling with something that he just knew as _Stiles_.  
He didn’t take his hand back though, kept running his thumb across knuckles or playing with pliant fingers as time ticked by.  
  
“Woah!” The breathed out exclamation had Peter tensing, stilling all movement as he cleared his face of emotion and turned to look at brown eyes now blinking into focus before swiveling down to meet his.  
“A bit of singing and you sleep the night away. If you can’t keep up with the rest, I can always up your training.” There was no actual threat to his words, but Peter figured Stiles wasn’t even listening anyway, not with how he just grinned at the wolf in a way that made all the night’s efforts seem worthwhile.  
“Peter.”  
“Stiles.”  
  
“I saw this re- Wait, why am I at Deaton’s?” The excitement left his eyes as he looked around with a frown, then down at himself as if expecting a missing limb.  
“You got hit and wouldn’t wake so-“ Stiles squeezed his hand then, Peter snatching it back before realizing it was a bit late for that and rushed a little through his explanation “I brought you here and figured the less your body has to worry about, the more you could focus on waking up.”  
The shit-eating grin was beaming at him, impervious to his scowl, “You were worried.”  
  
A roll of his eyes and Peter turned to watch Deaton walk in, “Concerned merely because the pups tend to get whiny when you’re hurt.”  
From the look on his face, Stiles could understand that, letting Deaton poke and prod him while he waved a hand at Peter, “We got it though, right?”  
“They couldn’t handle it without me.” A little smugness crept into his voice, but he reckoned he was allowed that. He did kill it after all.  
“Conceited much?” The banter was reassuring that there was no lasting damage and helped keep him from snapping at Deaton for what he thought was unnecessary touching.  
Peter quirked a grin when the vet finally stepped away, “Only when it’s true.”  
This had Deaton humming again, but he didn’t say anything other than telling Stiles to take it easy the coming days.  
  
Swinging his legs over the edge and hopping off the table, Stiles grinned at him, “So, everyone survived and we got the target. This calls for victory fries.”  
Peter should have seen that coming, “It’s almost dawn, I doubt anything is open. How about going home for a shower and sleep?”  
“Didn’t you just say I’ve slept enough? Though if you want to sleep, go for it. I know you old folks need your naps.” Stiles only managed to dodge the slap because Peter let him, “Or you know, ass kicking werewolves who’ve been up all night.”  
“Better. Come on.” Peter tugged at Stiles’ shirt to get him moving, “Let’s get you home before people start walking about.”  
In the dark of the night, his bloodied clothes wouldn’t stand out much, but walking through the town during morning rush hour would likely end with him in lock-up and an annoyed Sheriff ranting that he’d have to think up some cover story again.  
  
“Didn’t peg you for the type to walk your dates home.” The cheeky grin didn’t falter even when blue eyes flashed, “You’re more the ‘take them home and hint they should leave before sunrise type.”  
And because it was sometimes easier to just go along with it, “My dates also don’t sleep through half the night, I make sure of that.”  
This earned him a laugh as they stepped out into the night, Deaton presumably closing up.

The walk was filled with Peter recounting the few bits of the fight he could remember, he of course said they were the highlights and the rest wasn’t really worth mentioning, and Stiles laughed at the thought of Jackson bowling into Isaac, said he wished he could have seen that.  
The talk was interrupted by a call from Scott, asking if everything was okay, Peter realizing he hadn’t actually called to say the teen had woken.  
There was a brief silence when Stiles informed his best friend that he was being escorted him, but as no protests came, Peter pushed it from his mind.  
  
It was as they were walking onto Stiles’ street that he stopped walking, the wolf following suit with a questioning glance.  
“Thank you.” Stiles’ voice was earnest, gratitude shining in his eyes.  
Peter wasn’t entirely sure for what he was being thanked for, he doubted carrying Stiles to the vet’s warranted such a face, “Don’t tell me no one’s ever walked you home.”  
“Wha-No. I mean, yeah, sure, Scott drops me off all the time- I mean, you, you helped me tonight.” He suddenly looked hesitant, shoving his hands into pockets before steeling himself, “More than you realize.”  
Peter narrowed his eyes at that, it being all Stiles needed to carry on.  
  
“I was, like, stuck in my own head, but not in the good way. I couldn’t get out because of that bastard having messed with my flow, right?” His hands had come out, gesturing in that fascinating way that was pure Stiles, “It was this weird, trippy dream sequence. Things I’d seen and stuff that had to come from magic current. It was- It was all over the place and dark and cold and no matter how much I fought and kicked, I couldn’t shake loose, couldn’t break free.”  
  
He licked his lips, thoughts pulling him back to what he’d seen as his heartbeat picked up. Stiles gave off an uncomfortable vibe and Peter reached out without thinking, just a finger touching Stiles’ pulse point.  
The teen’s mouth twitched into a smile, calming somewhat before he nodded, “And then I saw hands, as if they were coming through the mist. Compared to everything else, they felt real so I grabbed them, pulled and followed it out. Trudged through to my own space.”  
And he then stared expectantly at Peter, who could only blink because really, what was he supposed to do with that?  
  
“It was you. They were your hands.”  
There was a slight skip in his heartbeat, one Peter found echoed by his own and he had to swallow that down before speaking, “How do you know it was mine?”  
“Because it felt like you.” The patented teenager look of ‘you’re an idiot’ fell way to something more nervous and embarrassed.  
  
Peter picked at it because it was easier than thinking about things, “Been holding my hand while I was sleeping?”  
“Fuck you.” Came the reflex reply with a dusting of a blush, Peter’s smirk answering it before the teen mowed on, “Look , you do scents and I do feelings, auras, alright? It felt like you and when I woke, you were practically holding my hand.”  
The werewolf scowled, not at all flushing a little, “Now who’s conceited? I was leeching your pain, or right now you’d be hanging off my arm and shuffling along like an 80 year old.”  
“So what’s your excuse now?”  
  
“What.” Peter blinked, looking from Stiles’ smirk to their hands. Joined. His thumb tracing circles, “Fuck.”  
“Not on first dates.” Stiles admonished and Peter just stared at him for a few good seconds.  
“Not that kind of girl?”  
“Nope. Ye-Wait!” Stiles scrunched his face up, trying to figure out where that went wrong and Peter realized things could be a lot worse.  
He could have Derek’s eyebrows for one.

Tilting Stiles’ chin up with one finger, Peter leaned in, his nose moving  along just under the witch’s jaw and to his ear, “By all means keep dreaming about me, it might come true.”  
Stiles’ shivered as the whisper brushed across his ear, yelping when the man bite down on the earlobe, He glared at Peter, who gave him a truly wolfish smirk, “Go home Stiles, before I keep my word and keep you awake all night.”  
And if that wasn’t the smell of sweet arousal in the air.  
“It _is_ almost dawn.” The teen challenged, eye darting to Peter’s mouth as he stepped that much closer that the wolf closed his eyes, soaking in the scent.  
  
Taking it as a rejection, Stiles made to move back, only to find claws digging into his hip, holding him in place and a whole lot of wolf grinning back at him, “You do have a point there.”

 


End file.
